


kingdom of thieves

by bummerang



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Qrow gets stuck with the fancy ghost, Roleswap, meanwhile Ozpin is so ordinary it's tragic (but not really), or maybe Ozma is stuck with Qrow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24031141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bummerang/pseuds/bummerang
Summary: “So, hypothetically speaking, let’s say I’m being haunted—”Possessed might be closerQrow paused, frowning. He considered it.“Or possessed, same thing. Let’s say I’m being possessed by a ghost. Hypothetically.”
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Ozpin
Comments: 17
Kudos: 77





	kingdom of thieves

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ozqrow Week 2020, for Day 5: "Role Reversal/ ~~Detective AU~~ ". 
> 
> Does it count as swapping roles if it's Ozma being swapped? Close enough. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

“So, hypothetically speaking, let’s say I’m being haunted—”

_Possessed might be closer._

Qrow paused, frowning. He considered it.

“Or possessed, same thing. Let’s say I’m being possessed by a ghost. Hypothetically.”

Oz, who was obviously half-asleep and had only gotten up to open the door because Qrow had threatened to whine, didn’t seem to have much presence of mind to say otherwise, so he nodded.

“Okay, so hypothetically let’s also say this ghost is old as fuck, and got the rawest deal from the gods so he’s cursed to body hop forever until he can do some kinda vague bullshit. In the meantime, he’s playing the world’s most intense game of keep away with some magical fossils—”

_Relics._

“—fucking excuse me, magical _relics_ , because it would be bad if his also old as fuck, evil immortal enemy got a hold of ‘em.”

_Apocalyptic._

“Kaboom,” said Qrow, a little spitefully, and was it weird he could actually feel the ghost’s exasperation? Like if the ghost had eyes, he’d definitely be rolling them right now. “With me so far?”

Another nod, and he moved back into his room, wordlessly inviting Qrow to stop saying weird crap in the hallway. Not that it mattered with the dorm hall mostly empty for winter break. Like he’d expected, there was a small pile of books on Oz’s nightstand, everything he’d intended to catch up on while he had peace and chocolate for three weeks.

Qrow knew all the titles from Oz’s steady grumbling since the start of the term, but he wasn’t going to say that. He hadn’t exactly intended to say all of _this_ either. Maybe _‘let’s get a drink in town’_ or _‘I’m bored, lemme kick your ass at Last Colosseum Royale VI’_ or probably now _‘if this ghost stuff doesn’t put you off, would you wanna go to the spring dance with me, I can’t dance, but I’ll figure it out for you?’_

He sat backwards on the single swivel chair and rolled over the small distance to Oz’s bed, where Oz plopped on the edge, crossing his legs.

“Well, it turns out that one of these relics is under this school. Under the CCT, actually. It’s usually safe-ish there ‘cause it needs a special person with special powers—that Maiden story you like so much? We’ll come back to that later—to open the door. But those powers are kinda like my ghost. They body hop upon death. So they could be anywhere right now. And Cromwell’s really one of evil immortal enemy’s underlings.”

“Professor Cromwell?” Oz said incredulously, voice hoarse.

Qrow shrugged, folding his arms over the back of the chair. He’d been skeptical too, but, well. Ghost memories didn’t lie. Or they didn’t seem to, anyway. Cromwell was older than his records said, and now Qrow owed Tai fifteen lien. The world wasn’t fair. “We always joke about him plotting evil in his tower, and what do you know, we were right.”

“An unexpected development.”

Qrow recognized that tone. He suspected it was the closest Oz would ever get to saying ‘what the actual fuck’.

“Would I be right to assume—hypothetically, of course—that you want to do something about this relic?”

“We’re gonna steal it.” Probably. He was still working on it.

Oz nodded thoughtfully. “I was afraid of that.”

That’s great, because Qrow was afraid of _this_. So afraid that he couldn’t look at Oz anymore, and instead lowered his gaze. “I know this sounds like a stupid prank. I wish it was. If this is the only time you ever believe me about anything, please believe this. This—curse. This bond? I think we can keep things from each other, but I don’t think we can outright lie. And it just doesn’t _feel_ like he’s lying. He says our souls are one thing now and I’m—honestly freaking the fuck out at whatever that means. Like, I know what that means because I _remember_ what that means but not really, ‘cause none of that is me. Not yet?” He dug his fingers into his elbows, hard. “He’s one ghost, but he’s also so many more. I’m just the latest suit in a long line. And I’m starting to feel it sometimes.”

 _I’m sorry._ It weighed, and it rippled in his— _their_ aura. It felt like an echo in Qrow’s chest, old and constant, and so very hollow.

A hand fell over his, gently pulling his fingers until they loosened. He looked up, surprised, uncertain if he should relish the warmth of this touch, or if he should be worried that Oz had leaned so far over he seemed like he might fall off his bed.

“How long?” Oz said, his gaze unwavering and terribly kind.

Qrow was familiar with that look. It fell on him often, and it usually meant Oz was going to do something that would break his moldy old heart, like clean out half a candy shop for him, or kidnap him out of the infirmary. It was debilitating, and he never felt like he deserved it.

And he realized Oz believed him.

“Few months,” Qrow said, mouth gone dry.

Oz’s hold tightened, and Qrow let it anchor him.

“I ignored him. I had to. Thought I was going crazy. And then I thought—I didn’t want anything to do with this. But what I want doesn’t matter? Probably? I don’t have the whole picture, but it’s—it seems huge. Way bigger than any of us.”

If Qrow thought of _her_ as the evil immortal enemy, he wouldn’t have to think of her too clearly—and this was difficult. The ghost was nothing but clear about her.

It had only been a flicker of a memory, but Qrow still remembered her face.

(He’d burned, that very first time. The ghost dreamed, and sometimes Qrow dreamed with him.)

And names had power, after all. He knew this all too well.

“Then we’ll take it step by step.” Oz smiled, wan. “Organization is my specialty.”

Qrow was probably shaking now, but he wasn’t sure he cared much.

“How did the others take it?”

He blinked. “Others?”

Brown eyes widened. “You haven’t told your team?”

“Not yet,” Qrow admitted, not certain why it felt like he was admitting to anything. “I will. I just wanted to tell you first.”

Oz leaned back, looking surprised. Qrow missed the warmth already.

If he had his way, he wouldn’t want to tell anyone. Hell, even his ghost didn’t want to tell anyone, not with all the people running around that wanted him dead actually repeatedly. But at least on this, they agreed: they couldn’t go it alone.

And if he had to be honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he could live with something this big and not have anyone know at all. Someone who knew him as _him_.

Someone who knew him for all that this curse could mean, and might still want him anyway.

“Do you think they won’t believe you?”

“Uh, nah. Not that.” Qrow let his gaze fall to the stack of books.

He’d meant to tell Raven first. She was back in the dorm, still sleeping off the monstrous hangover from out-drinking Port last night. But Qrow had taken the stairs instead of the elevator because putting off important conversations was always his thing, and he’d stopped on the floor below his. He hadn’t made up his mind yet when he walked numbly to Oz’s door. He only knew he wanted to talk to him.

But then Oz answered, and just seeing him there, Qrow suddenly felt like he had to get the worst over with first.

Thing was, he knew his team was going to believe him. Funny how much could change in three years, how you could start off nagging to copy homework and end up guarding someone’s back for life. Turned out that Beacon’s catapult-and-hope-for-the-best method of team building actually worked out sometimes. Really, the only thing they were going to harp on was how long it’d taken him to finally tell them.

And somewhere deep down, he had a feeling Oz would believe him, too. It wasn’t really the believing that was hard. It was the possibility that Oz would sit there, and listen, and be gently understanding, and then wouldn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

What could he say? That he decided to tell his team last because then he would have something certain to fall back on? Some measure of comfort even if Oz wasn’t there?

But that was Qrow’s problem, and it wouldn’t be fair on Oz.

So he didn’t say anything. He stood, and pushed off the chair.

Qrow liked to keep things simple. No strings attached fun, maybe a room in the city for a night, and a kiss was always just a kiss. But this was different, because this was Oz, and Qrow had already made things complicated by liking him too much. So this kiss was light, hesitant and asking, because Qrow was afraid he was wrong, that he’d read _something_ wrong all this time, that a picnic on the roof of the cafeteria at sunrise was just a picnic, and a hand holding his while he slept in a cold hospital bed was an accident.

It occurred to him about ten seconds in that Oz hadn’t pulled away, and had instead placed a hand on the back of his neck to deepen the kiss, which did unfavorable but very nice things to his heart. Finally, for what felt like the first time in days, Qrow relaxed, and let Oz pull him down to the bed. They kissed, and lied there, and Qrow found he didn’t want much else.

“So,” Oz said, fingers brushing smoothly through Qrow’s hair, “stealing the relic is your idea, I presume?”

“Ugh. Really, right now?”

“Well, the sooner we get this done, yes?” He kissed the back of Qrow’s hand, which definitely went some way in appeasement. “I’m guessing you’ve already had this discussion with your ghost.”

“We’re still figuring it out. He’s all for sitting and waiting, given everything that could go wrong. And I think that’s a crappy idea given everything that could go wrong.” His Semblance tended to be a localized phenomenon, but he wouldn’t rule out some sort of slow-creeping global dominance. Out of everyone on the planet, _he_ was the one that ended up with the ghost, after all.

“You said that the relic can only be accessed by a specific person with—certain powers. Cromwell and his employer would somehow have to find this person. The world is a large haystack.”

“Usually, yeah. Assuming this person stays out of trouble. The power I’m talking about is literally magic. Look, there are four relics, so there are four needles. Explosive ones. If they can’t control their magic, or they’re in the wrong place at the wrong time—” He swallowed hard. “Many of them have been caught before. Some escaped, some were killed, and some—probably preferred to do it themselves.”

It sat between them, heavy and difficult. Oz held his hand a little tighter.

“The relic vault in this school is kinda special,” Qrow said, also tightening his own hold. “Probably figures, really.”

 _At least one of the vaults needed some sort of failsafe,_ said the voice in his head, startling Qrow. _And Beacon was the first school. It seemed fitting._

Qrow _felt_ him return, sliding into place somewhere in the back of his mind, though he was a little hazy, like he was keeping some distance, which—was nice of him, actually. Qrow still wasn’t sure he could get used to the idea of having someone else in his brain, but at least his ghost had manners.

“Please tell me you mean ‘special’ as in ‘easy’.”

“Special as in simple but uh. Kinda obscure? Doesn’t seem like something Cromwell knows about or we’d have been fucked over before we even knew what we were being fucked over by.”

There was a beat as Oz stared at him thoughtfully. “The relic isn’t the real target.”

Qrow grimaced. “It _might_ be. It’s a possible target. Depends.”

_“On?”_

“How shittily we do this. Much as I hate to admit it, my ghost isn’t wrong. Best thing to do might actually be to wait. But there’s _stuff_ going on. It’s been twenty-three years since my ghost was last around, and we’ve both been doing some catching up. Cromwell isn’t the only evil minion sitting on a school. Grimm numbers have been rising pretty steadily in the last decade. Species of Grimm not normally seen in certain regions are starting to crop up in all sorts of places. Mortality rate of huntsmen is the highest it’s been in decades, and we don't have the greatest life expectancy in the first place.” He glanced at the bunk above Ozpin’s, empty for more than two years, same as the one across the room. “I don’t like the idea of sitting on our hands when we don’t know how far any of this goes.”

Another silence. Then, Oz sat up. He grabbed two pillows and wedged one under Qrow’s head. He took a notebook peeking out of the first drawer of his nightstand and folded his own pillow before tucking it under his head. “First thing’s first: information.”

Qrow sighed. This really could have waited.

But no. Probably not.

“So, you know that fancy-looking cane Cromwell has on the wall in his office…”

-


End file.
